The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

“This is the fire station,” Marchetti said, reaching a storage area with several tall doors.

They were fifty feet from the engine room. The smell of fuel was sickening, and the heat of the fire could be felt and heard.

Marchetti opened the panel marked fire. Inside on pegs were bright yellow firefighting suits made of Nomex and accented with reflective stripes of orange. On a shelf above each suit, the familiar air tanks and masks rested. Each SCBA, or Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus, included a fire- and heat-resistant mask with an integrated regulator, a communications system and a heads-up display. A harness supported flashlights and other tools, along with low-pressure air cylinders that would mount on men’s backs.

Marchetti grabbed a fire suit, Paul did also. As they pulled them on, Kostis and Cristatos arrived and did the same.

Pulling his mask into place, Paul opened the regulator valve. He gave a thumbs-up. The air was good.

Marchetti reached over and flicked a switch on the side of Paul’s mask. Paul heard static for a second and then the sound of Marchetti’s voice came through headphones.

“Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Paul said.

“Good. The respirators are equipped with radios.”

Paul was ready. The two crewmen were almost ready. Marchetti moved to the stanchion on the wall and began unfurling the hose.

Paul slotted in behind him, and they began to move forward.

As they approached the open bulkhead door to the engine room, Paul asked, “What’s the plan?”

“While the chief tries to get the robots back online, we do the best we can to fight the fire.”

“Why not just seal it off?”

“One of my men is in there,” Marchetti said.

Paul took a look at the burning engine room. He could barely imagine anyone surviving what was fast becoming a conflagration, but if there was a chance, they had to search.

“Is there anywhere he could shelter?”

“There’s a small office near the back of the engine room, a control room. If he was in there when it started, he might be alive.”

Two lines were now laid out. The hose Paul and Marchetti held and a second one for Kostis and Cristatos.

“Open the tap,” Marchetti shouted.

One of the crewman turned the valve, and the hoses came to life as they swelled with water. Marchetti opened the nozzle, and the high-pressure stream burst forth like a jet. Even with Marchetti also holding tight, Paul felt himself fighting the recoil.

He tightened his grip and flexed his knees, pushing forward as he and Marchetti forced their way into the engine room.

Passing the bulkhead felt like crossing the threshold into hell. Black smoke swirled around him so dark and thick that at times all he could see of Marchetti was the beacon on his respirator. Waves of heat baked him through the Nomex suit, and his eyes stung from smoke seeping beneath the seal of the mask. Here and there orange flames cut through the dark. They raced up and down and around, occasionally shooting over the top of the men like demons dancing to perdition. A series of small explosions shook the room from its farthest recesses.

Marchetti sprayed the water back and forth and adjusted the nozzle to widen the pattern. The second hose was brought in by Marchetti’s crewmen. Attacking with the two jets of water, they fanned the blaze, adding waves of superheated steam to the cauldron.

“Can you see the source?” Marchetti asked.

“No,” Paul said, trying to peer through the smoke.

“In that case, we have to move forward.”

Until now, Marchetti had seemed weak to Paul, sort of a bumbler, but he admired the man’s guts in defending his island and fighting for his crewman’s life.

“Over here!” the lead man on the other hose shouted.

Paul turned to see them laying down a wave of suppressing water, clearing a path for Marchetti and him to move through.